


Dalish Gloves

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Antivan Crow Training, Face Slapping, Gen, Light Masochism, implied threat of sexual abuse to a minor, warning: zevran, weaponized sexuality, zevran's gloves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Zevran gets caught with his mother's gloves and has to explain himself to the Crows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't tend to post stuff I've written, so it's possible this is over- or under-tagged; please let me know if you have concerns. Zevran's story is pretty dark. Just a brief exploration of a backstory scene that gets mentioned in the game. It got stuck in my head so I wrote it down.

"Tell me why you kept these," the Crow ordered in a soft voice.  He did not growl or intimidate.  Zevran supposed he did not have to, especially in the company of the brute holding his arms.    
  
"They were my mother's."  
  
"Your mother the whore?"  
  
"Yes, ser, that one."     At that, the brute pulled his arms back further and shook him painfully.    
  
The Crow held the leather gloves up to the light and frowned.  "No," he replied, considering.  "No, I do not like this tale, boy.  Tell me another."  
  
Zevran tried not to let his confusion show on his face.  "Ser, I assure you, I am telling the truth--" _Thwap_.  He bit his tongue to keep from crying out as the Crow swiftly lashed out, striking the boy's face with the glove.    
  
He returned to his calm facade as swiftly as he had struck, examining the ornate stitching across the back of the gloves.    
  
He would not repeat himself.  Zevran knew that.  He felt his blood running hot as he stayed silent a moment longer.  He had been doing so well.  He had been obedient and quick and good, and it had not harmed his performance to have a token of his mother.  If anything, it had kept him alive.  Would they rather have him sentimental or dead?  
  
The moment the question crossed his mind, he knew the answer.    
      
"I stole them, ser."  His voice shook slightly, and he tried to cover it with a bashful laugh.  "I lifted them from a seller at the market so I could pretend I had Dalish blood.  Stupid, I know.  I was tired of being treated as an alienage brat."  
      
_Thwap_.  "Another."    
      
Zevran barely blinked  He smiled easily, looking up through his lashes.  He was settling into his goal now, and the quiver was gone from his voice, replaced by a low purr.  “For me?  Oh, sir, you shouldn’t have.  However shall I repay you?”  
      
_Thwap_.  
      
Abashed, this time.  “Ah, so you found them.  I, ah, may have been making a few coins on the side, blackmailing one of the Chicks.  You know the little half-Dalish brujo?  She misses her mamae.  It is so very sad and profitable.”  
      
_Thwap_.  
      
He gave a low hiss, feeling the burn in his cheeks competing with the throbbing ache of his shoulders.  “Another,” he moaned softly.  
      
The Crow’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but enough.  _Thwap_.  
      
Zevran’s eyes dropped shut, and he lifted his chin more.  “Please.”  
      
_Thwap._  
  
_Thwap._  
  
_Thwap._  
      
Zevran stopped forming words.  He leaned forward with a gasp of pain and pleasure against the pull on his arms, into the strike.  Arching his back, he glanced back at the men holding him with a floaty smile.  He begged, stuttering in pain and shame and pleasure, and wondered how much of any of it, any of him, was real.  He felt the warmth of blood on his lip, and tasted it with a salacious grin, eyes hooded, gaze locked on the Crow’s.  
  
“You moan like a whore.  Did you learn that from your mother?”  
      
“What mother?”  He gave a throaty laugh, and let his pain color his voice just so.  “I am a Crow. I was hatched from an egg."  
      
The Crow stared impassively at him for a few breaths, then spoke to the brute holding him.  "Brother, give this one some practice on the rack.”  He ran a finger down the side of Zevran’s face.  "And pad the cuffs.  He might serve as bait, if he survives. I wager someone would pay good silver for the chance to shut him up."  
  
Zevran stuck his chin up, and looked the Crow in the eye as the brute yanked him away.  “Gold.”


End file.
